


You can tell me when it's over / if the high was worth the pain

by ViolettaValery



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Electroplay, Fluff, Gags, M/M, Minor Angst, Nipple Clamps, Pain Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolettaValery/pseuds/ViolettaValery
Summary: Yassen is clearly interested in him, but keeps rejecting his advances.Alex discovers why.Or, rather, Alex discovers what, exactly, Yassen wants to do to him.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 4
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this, uh, just dropped into my head wholesale and I wrote it down. I have no other excuses. 
> 
> Alex's age is unspecified so you can pretend he's whatever, but I imagine him around 16. 
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's Blank Space, because lyrics about an insane love going up in flames sounded perfect for this fic.

Yassen’s clearly interested. Alex can tell. Yassen may be good at hiding his true emotions, but Alex seems to have developed some kind of sixth sense when it comes to the other man, and he’s noticed the way Yassen has been eying him for months, surreptitious glances when he thinks Alex isn’t looking, heated gazes quickly masked the second Alex looks in his direction.

But he never acts on it, no matter how clear Alex makes it that he would be amenable to such an arrangement. Sauntering and stretching in front of the assassin, his shirt “accidentally” riding up, pretending to stumble into him – nothing does the trick. Yassen remains almost impassive.

Alex is _this close_ to snapping and just outright asking Yassen about it. Not that he thinks he’d get a straight answer, but he’s run out of other options.

Then they, miraculously, end up on the same side on a mission. They’ve both been sent to acquire a particularly lethal bioweapon- Alex because MI6 doesn’t want anyone else to get their hands on it, Scorpia because they doubtless have some kind of devilish use for it- except that the people they’re supposed to be stealing it from have been tipped off. They’ve destroyed the sample, and they have it out for both of them. There’s a better chance of survival in uniting against a common foe, running together under a spray of bullets, both of them firing as they run.

They still get captured. Unsurprisingly, Alex is the one they elect to rough up a bit before shoving them both in a cell, hands tied behind their backs. Alex has lost his shirt in the process, and he can taste the blood on his lip, and the bruises likely blooming on his torso.

Yassen sits facing him, eyes dark with arousal as he takes Alex in. It’s hard to tell with the pants Yassen is wearing, but Alex thinks he might be half-hard. 

“Do you have a danger kink or something?” he asks. That would, potentially, explain Yassen’s choice of profession, Alex thinks.

Yassen’s face gives nothing away.

“No,” he says laconically. “Not a danger kink.”

Alex wants to press, but they don’t have time for it. Yassen has a miniscule knife in his boot they’ve failed to take, Alex has a lockpick hidden in his shoe, and together, they break out and make it to a safehouse.

That’s when he decides they _really_ need to have a conversation.

“What the _fuck,_ Yassen?” he asks.

Yassen raises an unperturbed eyebrow.

“You were turned on, don’t deny it. More than I’ve ever seen. But you say it’s not a danger kink, so it’s not what they might do to _you_ that got you all riled up. So that means…” he stops. There’s a natural conclusion there, but it doesn’t – quite - make sense. “Were you turned on by _me_?”

“Yes, Alex. You,” Yassen agrees, and Alex wants to swear. This conversation is like pulling teeth.

“You have to know I’m willing,” he says. “You can’t _not,_ I couldn’t have been more obvious.”

Yassen shakes his head, the first glimmer of emotion he’s seen all night. “You don’t understand.”

Alex folds his arms across his chest and glares at him. “What don’t I understand? That this is a bad idea? We’re on different sides? You’re a contract killer? We’re both fucked if anyone finds out? Fuck all those reasons.”

“I want to hurt you, Alex,” Yassen says quietly. He sounds pained. “I was – aroused – because you were tied up and bloody. That’s why I have ignored your advances. These desires are – unconscionable.”

“Oh.” Alex says. Out of everything, this he hadn’t expected. But he can’t deny what the words do to him, a shiver already running through his body as images flood his mind of Yassen holding him down, Yassen’s hands leaving bruises. He didn’t know until now that he wants it, but, bloody hell, he wants it. “Well, I want that too.”

But Yassen doesn’t seem pleased. “No, you don’t,” he snaps. “You’re imagining, what, that I’ll hold you down and be a little rough with you? I want to _hurt_ you, Alex. I want to make you scream. I want to squeeze my hands around your throat while I fuck you, and keep fucking you after you pass out. I want to twist your arms behind your back until your muscles ache and leave rope burns on your wrists.” Yassen steps close to him, and a hand goes to Alex’s shoulder, his thumb and finger deftly finding near the back of his neck, a suggestion. “I want to use pressure points until you sink to your knees in pain, and use you, and whatever sounds you make, however loud you scream or cry or beg, I will ignore you.”

Each word, each suggestion, makes Alex’s cock throb, and by the time Yassen is finished with his tirade, he’s half hard. 

“Okay,” he says simply.

Yassen narrows his eyes at him.

“Okay?” he asks, in his most dangerous voice.

“Yeah,” Alex says. “It’s me agreeing.”

“You have no idea what you’re agreeing to,” Yassen snaps. His anger, as always, is a cold, quiet thing. “You think you know, but you don’t.”

And it’s Alex’s turn to snap.

“You think I don’t? I’ve been tortured. I’ve been _shot._ I’ve had to hold my breath until I nearly suffocated more times than I can count. I’ve been beaten and kicked and cut and knocked out and grazed by bullets. Desmond Cain made me dangle over a river of crocodiles until my muscles gave out. You think I have no idea what I’m agreeing to? I’ve met people far crueler than you, and I’ve survived them. I know what I’m signing up for and _I want it._ ”

Yassen considers this outburst silently for several moments.

Then, the fingers still on Alex’s shoulder press down. It’s white-hot agony, shooting through his nerves and making him gasp. It throws him off kilter, making it easy for Yassen to send him sprawling on his knees with just a push.

He gazes back up at Yassen, the challenge clear in his eyes. If Yassen needs proof, he’ll give it.

Alex has never seen Yassen lose patience before, but he seems to, now. He responds to the challenge in Alex’s eyes with a slap with a slap to the face, the sharp _crack_ of it echoing off the high ceilings. Alex’s cheek burns and his cock throbs and he looks back up at Yassen, the demand clear in his eyes.

Yassen takes this in for several seconds, then appears to reach a decision. With deft movements, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, his hard cock springing out. Alex’s breath catches. Yassen is – large. That’s one way to put it. There’s already precome beading on the tip of his cock, and Alex longs to lick it off and find out what it tastes like.

He’s spared the effort of having to do it: Yassen fists a hand in his hair and shoves his cock unceremoniously into Alex’s mouth. It hits the back of his throat, making him gag, but Yassen ignores it, continuing his thrusts. It’s all Alex can do to gasp for breath between each one and not choke around Yassen’s length.

Still, it’s nice. He closes his eyes and surrenders to the movements. He doesn’t have to do anything, just let Yassen take control and use his mouth. The sheer brutality of it turns him on, and he moves his hands to touch himself, or at least alleviate some of the pressure against his dick. But Yassen has other ideas, jerking him violently backwards by the hair and then up.

“No,” he says curtly, and Alex doesn’t have to guess what he means.

He’s tempted to try touching himself anyway, to see how Yassen would punish him for the disobedience.

Before he can reach a decision, Yassen’s hands fist in his hair again, dragging him to the bedroom, where he’s thrown facedown onto the bed. Yassen settles on top of him, and Alex expects him to get straight down to business, but instead, he reaches for something in the bedside drawer.

Rope.

Alex doesn’t struggle as, for the second time that day, his wrists are tied behind his back. The rope is rough hemp, and it chafes against his skin. He tests the knot, but, unsurprisingly, it’s tight.

Yassen flips him over and, from somewhere, produces a ball gag.

Alex decides not to ask questions about where all these things are appearing from in this safe house.

“I would like to hear the sounds you make,” Yassen laments as he puts the gag on Alex. “But I would rather not draw attention to ourselves with the noise, so this will have to do.”

Yassen’s preparations are hurried and cursory, a couple lubricated fingers to ease his way. His cock splits Alex open, his thrusts and deep and brutal, and each one makes Alex ache with need. He lets spill sounds without inhibition, though many of them catch on the gag in his mouth, and each one seems to make Yassen’s cock pulse inside him. He writhes on the bed, but it does nothing other than chafe his wrists and make the muscles in his shoulders ache. Yassen ignores his struggles, continuing to fuck into him, and in a last desperate attempt for _more,_ he lifts his hips and tries to fuck himself on Yassen’s cock, meeting his thrusts.

Yassen looks down at his cock and remarks its hardness. He seems surprised, like all of this was supposed to prove a thoroughly different point.

Alex is beyond proving a point. He just wants to come before he loses his mind.

Yassen doesn’t take long. Alex has no doubt that, had he wanted, he could have drawn this out, kept his orgasm at bay while he wore Alex down. But it seems Yassen has chosen to make his point with swift brutality, which serves Alex just fine. Yassen’s orgasm is soundless, and Alex realizes that despite his initial anger, he’s in perfect control. He has not truly let himself go, and Alex wonders what Yassen might be capable of if he _did._ How much _more_ could Yassen give him, how far could he take it?

How badly could Yassen hurt him before he decided he’d reached a limit?

That shouldn’t bring him to the very precipice of climax, but it does, so that when Yassen finally, mercifully puts a hand on him, Alex comes immediately and harder than he ever has in his life.

Neither of them says a word, after. Alex’s _I told you so_ goes unspoken. They’ve had an argument with their bodies, and Alex won.

“I’ll let you know next time I’m in London,” Yassen says as they lie side by side catching their breath.

“Good,” he says. “You better deliver,” he adds. “I don’t want teasing and foreplay. I want pain.”

“You’ll have it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alex takes the elevator up to a penthouse apartment ( _typical,_ he thinks; of course a contract killer like Yassen has a fucking _penthouse_ in _London_ ). He knocks on the door, which opens immediately.

Yassen stands on the threshold, all dressed in black that shows off his strong, lithe body. He doesn’t say a word as Alex steps inside, looking around. There’s floor to ceiling windows with excellent views, though he can’t help thinking they’re a security risk. Knowing Yassen, though, they’re probably bulletproof and one-way.

“Take your clothes off,” Yassen orders, jerking Alex out of his observations.

“Well, hello to you too,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Yassen slaps him. He seems to enjoy doing that.

“Clothes off,” he repeats.

So this is how it’s going to be. Well, Alex can work with that.

He strips.

The second his clothes hit the floor, Yassen grabs him by the hair and drags him to the bed – a king-sized thing covered in black silk sheets. Alex wants to laugh. It’s so patently movie villain. He notes that there’s already rope tied to the four corners of it, the same rough hemp.

Yassen throws him unceremoniously on the bed and ties him to it, spread-eagled. He doesn’t offer his hands for the restraints, but neither does he resist as Yassen grabs his wrists and ties them with tight knots. Alex doesn’t even bother to test them. There’s no point.

There’s no gag today.

“I had the walls soundproofed, and ensured that there’d be no neighbors,” Yassen explains. Alex wonders how he’d ensured it and whether it involved murder. “So you can scream as loud as you like.” He leans closer, breath tickling Alex’s neck. “And I _do_ hope you’ll scream for me, Alex.”

Alex shivers in anticipation.

“You want me to scream, you’ll have to try a lot harder than this,” he challenges.

Yassen’s eyes glint in amusement. “So much bravado,” he murmurs. “So much confidence. But soon, you _will_ be screaming for me.”

For the first time, Alex feels nervous. What if whatever Yassen does to him is too much, pain so bad he wants nothing but for it to stop? Except, of course, Yassen had made it clear he wouldn’t stop.

He shakes it off. He wants this. Already, he’s half-hard with anticipation. And however bad the pain gets, he knows he can take it.

Alex watches as Yassen takes some sort of clamp and attaches it to his nipple. He bites his lip as it goes on. Usually, with pain, there is that first sharp sting of it, and then the aftershocks, but this is continuous and unabating, biting into his skin, and all he can do is lie there and take it.

Yassen attaches the second clamp as meticulously at the first, until Alex’s entire attention is focused on those two points of pain. He forces himself to breathe evenly. His cock takes an interest, hardening to almost-fullness.

Then there’s some sort of clicking sound, as of a dial being turned, and suddenly, what he’d thought was pain becomes a pleasant memory by comparison to what he feels. He jerks in his restraints and cries out in surprise as it floods through him, seeming to enter his body at the two points where clamps bite into his nipples and then course through his entire being like molten lava.

The clamps are attached to wires of some sort, he realizes hazily, before the pain curtails any other though; they’re metallic, and the dial Yassen had turned must be sending a current through his body.

He groans. It _hurts,_ and pain usually sends anger surging through his body, riling him up. But now, it’s as if each of those surges of anger turn into arousal, flooding through his veins and turning his whole body into a live wire. He’s cock hardens fully, jerking with interest with each volt of current running through his body.

Yassen turns the dial some more.

Alex swears. He didn’t think it was possibly for it to hurt more, but it does. He groans again, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to control his ragged breathing. His eyes are watering now, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed.

Yassen rubs away his tears with a thumb. “I know you’re not really crying,” he says softly. “Your eyes are merely watering with pain. But you should know, you look so beautiful with tears in your eyes. It’s why I didn’t blindfold you.”

Alex’s cock throbs again at the suggestion of the blindfold. That would’ve been nice, being in the dark, completely at Yassen’s mercy, whatever pain he inflicts a surprise.

Yassen shifts on the bed, and Alex hears the clink of a belt, the click of what must be a bottle of lubricant. He’s surprised at Yassen’s consideration. He doesn’t think the pain of Yassen fucking him dry could possibly register given what he’s already feeling.

He groans again. His whole body is agony. _Why_ is he wired like this? Why does he have to endure this to feel pleasure? Why can’t he simply get hard like a normal person?

Then Yassen touches him, and all those regrets fly out of his mind. Each touch of Yassen’s firm and calloused hand around him feels like ecstasy in contrast to the pain flooding through him, and this time when he groans, it’s with pleasure.

Then Yassen’s fingers find their way inside him. His hand is still stroking Alex, slowly, teasingly, while Yassen opens him up with absolutely no gentleness whatsoever. It’s nowhere near enough. He wants to be full, split open, crying from the stretch of it.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he manages. “Yeah, come on, _come on._ Fuck me already.”

Yassen smirks. At least, Alex thinks he does; it’s hard to tell from the tears pooling in his eyes.

“You want more?” he asks, and before Alex can think about answering, he hears the click of the dial turning again.

This time, he screams. He’s still screaming when Yassen forces his way inside him with enough force to make his toes curl. Yassen’s preparation had been cursory, and the painful stretch combines with the sensation of fullness (fuck, Yassen is _big,_ and he loves it), and the arousal that floods through him is almost enough to drown out the pain.

Yassen fucks him the same way he did last time: swift, brutal, methodical. Each thrust hits just right, sending pleasure sparking through him, and he feels like he might explode from containing all of it if Yassen doesn’t give him release.

He refuses to beg. Yassen might take it the wrong way, think he’s begging for it to _stop_ rather than for _more,_ and fear floods through him at the thought that Yassen might just – end this. Instead, he tries to lift his hips, tries to meet Yassen’s thrusts and fuck himself on his cock, but his restraints make movement difficult, and it makes the clamps pull at his already sensitive nipples. He lies pliant, then, letting Yassen take what he wants from his body. He seems close; he’s been quiet this entire time, in contrast to all the noise Alex made, but now his breathing turns ragged. Then he stills, spilling soundlessly inside Alex, and Alex whimpers at the loss of those brutal thrusts.

Then Yassen takes him in hand, just as he thinks the pain might finally overpower his arousal. This time, Yassen strokes him with purpose, clearly leading him to climax, and Alex closes his eyes and surrenders to it.

“I wonder.” Yassen’s voice comes as if from a distance. “How much more of this could you take?”

The shiver runs through his entire body. He doesn’t know if it’s fear or desire.

Yassen’s strokes speed up. There’s a click, more pain, and then his climax whites everything out. He comes with a scream, and when he regains awareness of his surroundings, the pain is gone, though his entire body aches with the memory of it.

He lies still with his eyes closed. Moving seems like a gargantuan task, and besides, he’s still restrained. Yassen removes the clamps, and he can’t stop the small whimper at that. He can’t understand why that hurts too.

He’ll just lie here, he thinks. He’s safe with Yassen. He doesn’t have to go anywhere. Just lie here in this bed.

Yassen unties him, and his wrists sting when the rope comes off. He must have jerked against his restraints more than he realized. He hadn’t even noticed the pain of the rough rope biting into raw skin. He vaguely recognizes that Yassen is massaging his wrists. Ensuring circulation. It’s good that Yassen is thinking of logistics, because it’s beyond him right now.

Then Yassen lies down beside him, and Alex blinks his eyes open and attempts to turn his head. Yassen is rubbing a cooling cloth over his heated skin, cleaning the evidence of his orgasm off him. It’s strangely intimate and rather nice. He closes his eyes again.

He thinks perhaps he dozes off. All he knows is that he’s pretty sure Yassen has puts his arms around him. He thinks they might be _cuddling,_ but he’s too exhausted to open his eyes again and verify this. He’s warm and comfortable and he’s safe and Yassen’s bed and he doesn’t need anything else right now.

He doesn’t know how much later he opens his eyes. He thinks it could be hours. The sun appears to be setting. He really should vacate Yassen’s bed. He has to have overstayed his welcome, though Yassen is being thoroughly polite about it. But he just…doesn’t want to move. He feels thoroughly, pleasantly wrecked, Yassen’s come leaking out of him, the salt of his dried tears on his face, the soreness of having been fucked much too roughly. And that’s definitely Yassen lying beside him, warm and firm, a calloused hand around his waist. That’s nice too.

“You’re awake?” Yassen inquires. Alex’s head is close enough to his chest that he feels the rumble of his voice.

“Mmm,” Alex agrees. “I think so.” His voice is hoarse, from all the screaming no doubt, and Yassen hands him a bottle of water. He guzzles it down, thirstier than he realizes, then lies back down.

Yassen brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes. It’s such an intimate gesture that Alex blinks at him in surprise. Gone is the Yassen who’d gotten hard from watching him scream, his eyes full of tears. The one beside him is an unfamiliar version of the man, gentler than he’s ever seen him.

“I’m not often wrong,” Yassen says. “And I already knew you were remarkable. But I never realized quite how remarkable.”

“Thanks?” Alex offers. “I didn’t really do anything.”

“I beg to differ,” Yassen says. His calloused fingers dance over the curve of Alex’s hip. “You took all that without complaint, and, more than that, took pleasure in it.”

“You were pretty clear you wouldn’t stop even if I did complain,” Alex points out. “Not that I wanted to,” he adds, though he’s only now realizing the insanity of what they’ve just done. People are _tortured_ with this.

He wonders if Yassen has actually tortured anyone this way. Probably, given how well he seemed to know what he was doing.

“I would’ve stopped if you’d asked,” Yassen says, and Alex realizes there was probably more than one reason for the lack of any gag.

He turns his head away, looks up at the ceiling.

“It’s hotter if we pretend you wouldn’t,” he says quietly. He doesn’t really want to dwell on what that says about him, and Yassen, too, says nothing. Merely nods.

“You should shower,” he offers. “It’ll help with the stiffness.”

Warm water on his muscles sounds heavenly, but he’s not sure he can even walk right now. He sits up with a wince, his entire body protesting. Yassen coaxes him from the bed and helps him into the shower, stripping and joining him under the spray.

The shower is like the rest of the penthouse, sleek and modern, all sparkling glass, steel, and dark tile.

“So did you have this place remodeled to make it look like a James Bond villain’s, or is that what you told your realtor to look for?” he asks.

“All that, and you still have a mouth on you,” Yassen remarks.

Alex shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to try harder next time.”

Yassen looks at him carefully. “Next time?” he asks.

Alex suddenly feels chilled under the warm spray. “Don’t tell me you’re bored already,” he says with false levity.

“Hardly.” He runs the back of his knuckles over Alex’s neck, and Alex wonders what thoughts hide behind those dark eyes. “There are so many things I would like to do to you.”

Alex closes his eyes and imagines the hand tracing the curve of his neck wrapping around it and squeezing. Isn’t that something Yassen had said he wanted to do? Make him pass out and fuck his limp body?

The thought makes his cock twitch in interest, though he’s far beyond having a round two in the shower.

“You’ll have your chance. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, though they both know that’s not quite true. For all they know, one of them might catch a bullet before “next time” rolls around.

But Alex had long ago realized that if he dwelt too long on that, he’d never get out of bed in the morning. No, the only way to stay sane was to convince himself there’d be a next time, and then convince himself to forget that it might be a lie.

He shakes his head. He’s too blissfully fucked out for such dark thoughts. It’s thoroughly ungrateful to go down this avenue of thought after Yassen has exerted so much effort.

“Good,” Yassen agrees. He leans close to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “The things I will do to you, Alex. They will make tonight seem gentle by comparison.”

Alex shivers. Yassen’s hand is still on his neck, he realizes, and he has no doubt Yassen can feel the uptick in his pulse.

Finally, Yassen has managed to make him beg.

“Please,” he whispers.

After, Yassen watches as he picks his clothes up off the floor and puts them on. 

“Will you be all right getting home?” he asks as Alex ties his shoes.

Alex looks at him. “And if I say no, will you walk me home?” Alex tries to imagine it, the pair of them arm in arm like lovers until Yassen drops him safely off on the doorstep with a kiss. Though technically, they _are_ lovers, but that hardly seems the accurate word for what they’ve been doing.

“Yes,” Yassen says.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, throwing on his jacket.

Yassen nods. “Stay safe, Alex.”

He snorts. They both know that’s probably not going to happen.

“You too,” he says. “See you next time.”

“Next time,” Yassen agrees.

Alex wonders what next time holds as he walks home through the dark London streets.

Only when he reaches home does he realize that at no point tonight did Yassen kiss him.


End file.
